She is Sick
She is sick
Well you wound, and sick you Kill
Which ill
Attends those who you adore
And more
For the first's a languishing
dying
And the the second though't be death
Leaves breath
To bemone onse desperate
estate
Leave to be the other th'one
is none
Wound me not in health I vowe
to you
Your afflictions neaver shall
my fall
Ingender, but I shall smile
the while
You weepe, when you laugh I'le morne
in scorne
Of your contempts, and soe end
As your self shall please your frend.
Well you wound, and sick you Kill
Which ill
Attends those who you adore
And more
For the first's a languishing
dying
And the the second though't be death
Leaves breath
To bemone onse desperate
estate
Leave to be the other th'one
is none
Wound me not in health I vowe
to you
Your afflictions neaver shall
my fall
Ingender, but I shall smile
the while
You weepe, when you laugh I'le morne
in scorne
Of your contempts, and soe end
As your self shall please your frend.
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